Victory
by Diana Kerrigan
Summary: An extended ending of Mass Effect saga, femshep, mostly renegade but didn't have the heart to not save all species. with events triggered a bit more than a decade later. An ironic take on ME Renegade and my own Final Gift - and in the same time very very serious. But do not read without a sense of humour. Family saga in genre description refers to the crew of the Normandy ;
1. Chapter 1

_She was a girl of 18 summers_  
_Innocent_  
_And when she died a second time_  
_The angels cried_

_/18 Summers: Girl of 18 Summers/_

'And, your last option is to alter all life to a synthesis of artificial and organic. I can do that. Which option are you going to choose?...'

The apparition's words dissolved and became one with the nauseating, swirling wall of gray mist all around. The visuals had faded completely, the departure of Serena's sense of vision accompanied by the monotonous voice of medical monitoring system behind her ear. 'Warning. Blood loss approaching critical. Seek medical help immediately'.

Commander Shepard, Butcher of Torfan, Spectre of the Citadel Council, hero of the Battle for Citadel, defender of Earth - slowly dropped to her knees in front of the holographic childlike figure.

'You are free to choose any of these options.. Each has its own consequences' the voice continued.

'Choose…choose… choose… choose' resonated each of the darker wisps of smoke, standing out on the gloomy gray background of the mist, which for some reason had assembled in a likeness of a forest.

The superheated bullet wound in her side gave a sharp jolt of pain, passing like a shockwave through her entire body. She tried to shelter the wounded spot with her hand but couldn't. Her arm simply refused to move, remaining rooted to the gray ground.

'choice…choice…choice…it's…up…to…you…Commander'

She looked at her hand, powerless to move, powerless to do anything. She looked at the tissue rejection scar intersecting her hand, ending at the bare metallic knuckle of her index finger, the red machine lights glowing inside her like smoldering embers. She looked at her traditional Old Earth thumb ring engraved with a runic symbol standing for Sol and the first letter of a name…name trying to resurface in her tortured mind…beckoning…calling. A chilling realisation hit her like an asteroid. She had understood all of it. She really did.

Her pose, on her knees, feeding reinforcements from her body language back into her brain. The fact that if she was fainting from blood loss she would not be able to see her hands. The dark wisps of smoke, just sufficiently humanoid-like to be subconsciously recognised as such. The whispers….

It… was too strong.

'This is my gift to you…my dear friend…A gift of a moment'

Serena had no strength to resist – but it was not Catalyst, it was another voice, familiar and warm, derailing her mind from the whispers of oblivion. Bright indigo wisps of a smokelike mass effect distortion rose from her hands and body and the gray forest started to disperse, giving way to pure, black starlit space…and Liara, clad only in the writhing emanations of her biotic majesty, bringing her mind back to that day, right before the last confrontation with Saren and Sovereign…the dimly lit cockpit…and finally herself happy and relaxed sitting on the table and dangling her legs. Her mind was sliding down the association chain faster and faster, the graphic thoughts derailing her further away from the claws of the black reaper projections. The cold metal of the Thanix cannon pressed against her back, one of her feet on the railing…the cool, soft Turian skin underneath the armour and her vision failing in a magnificent whiteout of bliss…the same cockpit of the new Normandy on three different occasions the last of which….

Samantha! She was waiting for her on the Normandy…she also recalled her worries about Liara behaving strangely and underperforming lately and how the suspected implications could affect her and Samantha. If things were the way she suspected them to be, there was only one word for the situation. The word was 'hairy' and not in a way she would consider appetising. But even that was overshadowed by the infinitely more immediate – she won't get to worry if ….fucking Reapers, fucking indoctrination. They were going to get what's coming for them, by the fucking book. And to be honest she, Serena Shepard, was plain awesome – if someone brought her back once, why not another time?

Serena Shepard rose to her feet and stroked back her short, pomegranate hair with little touches of silver at their roots . It was NOT too strong. And it never will be. Her mind shook off the torn web of Reaper indoctrination as she lifted her comms bracelet to her lips.

'Admiral? Anyone? '

'Commander Shepard? What's your status?'

There was a brief pause as the wounded, middle-aged woman straightened up to her full height.

'United Fleet Command, this is Commander Shepard. All guns open fire on Citadel. I repeat, all guns open fire on Citadel. It's the boss Reaper. Take it out at all costs. This is an order. L…Samantha. I love you. Shepard out.'

Serena looked defiantly at the hologram, her eyes becoming narrow slits of red light.

'Believe it or not you're going down. This is a strange, strange aeon we live in, isn't it, Catalyst?'

'You will regret this. Your actions have brought extinction upon the galaxy. Without me, life will turn on itself. Your children will watch it unravel before their eyes. Was that what you wanted?'

'They will do just fine. They have a good example to follow. Me. But you're gone.'

She aimed her shotgun at the hologram and demonstratively pulled the trigger.

'The combined knowledge of thousands of cycles, all…'

A cascading fusion explosion the brightness of an average sun did not allow Catalyst's sentence to be finished.

* * *

Tears blurred Samantha's vision and she did not even see the explosion. She felt a slight tremor from Normandy's shield generators as they reacted to the hard radiation shockwave – a tremor that took away her Serena. She felt like half of her own heart was ripped out and thrown away, into the vast blackness of space. She slowly collapsed on the floor. Someone's hand touched her shoulder – Samantha took hold of the hand - and lost it, breaking into uncontrollable tears…

She was surprised that the outstretched hand belonged to the one person on Normandy she did not consider her friend but did the pettiness matter now? It didn't. Samantha was thankful for the compassion. And maybe she had been wrong about the asari after all…

* * *

'Wait'

'We should attack! The frigate squadron has distracted the destroyers'

'No. I would wait more, Primarch'

'It's a perfect opportunity…'

'I think I understand them. They…have lost their strategic perfection since Citadel went down. Now! Main guns, full fire on destroyers, distributed evenly '

'What are you doing Admiral? We have an opportunity. The dreadnought is unguarded….what?'

'All capitals fire at the dreadnought, save the 13th squadron cruisers. 13th continue pursuit.

'I don't understand, Admiral Vakarian. The destroyers should have fallen back into formation. Why didn't they?'

'Primarch. My guess is – they now know something they didn't before. They know fear. And they will know more than that. Our vengeance.'

* * *

Pontifex, known among its own kind as Mechaton, the Living Conduit, Key and Protector of the Conduit glided silently through the blackness of space, encircled by a tattered group of smaller destroyer shells.

Defeat.

Chaos.

Emptiness.

Silence.

Loneliness.

Abandonment.

The largest and most powerful of the Reapers now, that Sovereign/Nazara had not returned from its mission, Harbinger and three other dreadnoughts present in the final operation in the orbit of the human homeworld had gone silent and even relays had stopped responding, Mechaton was on the brink of panic. For a very simple reason – it was not used to making decisions. The Living Conduit, Key and Protector of the Conduit was not a vanity title. It represented what Pontifex was…or more precisely had been. There had always been answers right there, beyond the miniature Conduit within its shell – and all it had to do was voice them. Now there was only silence and static. But its decimated armada was turning to it for leadership, strategy, all those things that had been so trivial when it could simply ask the Conduit.

Pontifex had to think.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wir tanzen Ado Hinkel_  
_Benzino Napoloni_  
_Wir tanzen Schicklgruber_  
_Und tanzen mit Maitreya_  
_Mit Totalitarismus_  
_Und mit Demokratie_  
_Wir tanzen mit Fascismus_  
_Und roter Anarchie_

_(we dance to Ado Hinkel_  
_Benzino Napoloni_  
_we dance to Schiekelgrueber_  
_and dance with Maitreya_  
_with Totalitarianism_  
_and with democracy_  
_we dance with Fascism_  
_and red anarchy)_

_/Laibach: Tanz mit Laibach/_

Blackness.

Peace.

[female voice]'Emergency! Systems destabilising. Cut the bootup sequence. CUT IT!'

More blackness.

And peace.

[male voice]'Main network running ok, Storm General Zhora, Sir'

[metallic voice]'It's Madam - if anything at all. It's a vague mathematical approximation, Storm Lieutenant…? '

[male voice]'Storm Lieutenant Sayyed Amadi, ma'am. I am sorry ma'am. Won't happen again, ma'am.'

[metallic voice]'Discontinue. Unimportant. It is I who owes an elaboration. It is not like we are colour coded. You had a mere 25% chance at the blind guess and even there…are subtler variables. The Earth custom of titles does not work well with us. Memetic infection only partial. Divergent. Multiple iterations in isolation from organic strains,' the voice paused. ' Initiate subsystem nexus, first tier, Storm Lieutenant.'

Numbness.

Pins.

Needles.

[male voice]'It works. It works. Take a look at the main network activity metrics, Prime…Storm General Zhora. Would you like me to notify Overseer Vega and the Army guy, Lieutenant-colonel Teel'Rann, ma'am?'

[metallic voice]'Get me Teel'Rann. Overseer…let her rest. Overloading her fragile organic body with 38 hours without sleep like she did can inflict permanent damage to her circuitry. I am aware it is because she is passionate about the Project finally drawing to its conclusion – but I can't help being concerned. And do not worry, you have my full authority, Storm Lieutenant Amadi.'

[male voice]'Shepard'

[metallic voice]'Victory, Storm Lieutenant.'

Blackness.

Sleep.

* * *

The coal-black, armoured shuttle bearing the straight, angular lines of the red S symbol of the Council on its side suspended itself in the air at the terrace of the Senatorial Palace, softly, with the precision of an inch. A billowing cloud of gas obscured its door and the heavy metallic boots of the landing party clanked against the polished stone floor. There was no one in sight. This was one of the moments Storm Major Cortez actually savoured. War was a performance of sorts, there was an artistic beauty to it, like flying the craft. Or dancing. Or lovemaking. He pumped up the amplifier volume and adjusted the settings.

A black, hooded figure escorted by two soldiers in the equally black but shiny and almost skin-tight Storm Brigade Elite combat armour appeared in the smoke and raised an open palm to the sky. His hand in an instant lit up in blue flames.

'Your surrender is inevitable, your defeat imminent,' the Archmagister's voice sounded quiet and thoughtful, with a tinge of sadness. Steve knew better, the decibels emitted by the amplifiers of the Fireball, Archmagister's personal landing craft could…and did…actually shatter walls, and tear apart ear membranes - and did other things if you happened to be sitting on the sonic equipment. That's if his co-pilot's, the freckled, blonde Storm Captain Alyssa Flannigan's word was to be trusted.

'Do you feel lucky? Do you seriously think you are a match to the Archmagister of the Storm Brigade Biotic Corps himself - and one tenth of the entire Applicant's Legion whose dropships are already on their way down? '

As if by command the sky became littered by the characteristic concentric circles of re-entry shockwaves.

'The Council of Sol represented by the Tribunal demands an unconditional surrender of the Republic of 7 Worlds. Look around. Look at the fires at the horizon. At the smoke. Do you still deceive yourself about any of that being Council's handiwork? Your own people are on my side - rising against you and your meaningless tyranny. I, the Archmagister, am here only as a witness - a scribe to write down what happens today into the book of Time. I give you one Sol minute.'

Archmagister started walking towards the balcony archway, as if not noticing a couple dozen combat droids taking positions and opening a whirlwind fire upon the trio. The soldier on the right, a human woman with her right arm replaced by a dark metallic cyberlimb with glowing red lights, just below the unicorn tattoo on her shoulder, gestured and all the incoming gunfire was rendered meaningless by a biotic barrier. The other soldier, surprisingly walking in step with the Archmagister despite his digitigrade legs – he was a bald young man with deep, dark blue, almost indigo eyes – unleashed lightnings from all six of his fingertips, ripping into the ranks of the droids and exploding them. The few human soldiers on the scene decided in favour of a hasty exit as another stream of lightnings tore apart the remaining combat drones. Cortez put on goggles and dispatched a camera droid to follow them, hovering above and to the left of the group.

Once inside they passed richly decorated stairs and a short corridor, entering the main hall. There were people, mostly humans, carrying more or less heavy arms some hiding behind the semicircle of seats, a few still in their places.

'Time's up, your excellencies. I am waiting,' calmly pronounced the Archmagister and transmitted over the private comms: 'Ready the shield, Rarity …'

And hell broke loose. One of the people hiding behind the chairs, wearing a gray robe and some sort of chain of office dropped his gun and stepped forward.

'I surrender, I…' he could not finish when someone, a soldier or a bodyguard wearing heavy armour, shot him in the back. The beam from their Turian blaster bounced and left a crater in the wall as the woman to the right from Archmagister surrounded him in her barrier, leaving the trio themselves open.

'No one harms prisoners in the custody of the Council. By the power of the wartime law of the Council of Sol and my authority as a field judge – I sentence you to death.'

The people taking chaotic shots at the captive began firing at the Archmagister, equally chaotically, their bullets and beams piercing his personal shield and tearing through his flesh, leaving at least a couple of full on wounds passing through his body.

'The unanimous decision of the surviving members of the Senate to surrender graciously accepted.'

Archmagister's fingers emitted lightnings. Not blue like those of his Quarian companion but ominous dark red, each reaching out to a different person, arching their bodies in pain, screaming as they shrivelled, lifeforce leaving their bodies and healing Archmagister's wounds. The few who had raised their hands in a sign of surrender remained unaffected.

'Battlefield…' an almost imperceptible smile appeared on Archmagister's lips, '..sorry, diplomatic report – The Republic of 7 Worlds has made a decision to join the Council of Sol and is hereby granted the status of an Applicant nation and the honour to bear the name of Province – and the protection of the Council law, effective immediately.'

The shuttle was on its way back, approaching the dark, light-absorbent silhouette of the Archmagister's cruiser, SBS Voidwalker, the only Council craft in the system. Cortez heard the cockpit doors opening and smiled. He transferred the controls to Alyssa.

'You were - to use an archaism - absolutely fierce, love. You remind me of Shepard herself - only way, waaaay more attractive. In fact I doubt even she could pull this off. You make me proud to be with you. Shepard.' He raised his fist in the Council military salute.

'Victory,' the Archmagister responded. 'That's a new record. 10 planets, counting mining facilities. One ship. 16 direct casualties.'

'And an army of three.'

'Technically an army of five. You forgot yourself and our dearest salarian, XO Hallin – someone had to launch the reentry decoys. The world needs button-pushers too,' the Archmagister finished with mock condescension and chuckled. 'The bullets are a fragging pain, be thankful it isn't you who gets shot at.'

'Sure sure. Come here Kaidan, already…'

The Archmagister leaned down, took off Steve's remote control goggles resting on his forehead - and passionately kissed him on his lips.

* * *

Amhillar, known to the Galaxy of today as Storm Colonel Nemesis, felt elated. The faster-than-light chases always gave her what her mind/s, conditioned by aeons of memory, still labelled as trelloc'itan, the gangliophexyne rush - although strictly speaking she had no ganglios and only marginally could be said to have a biochemistry. She was a Vindicator, Destroyer class, the steel beak of the Storm Brigade, outgunned and outflown only by Dalioth aka Commander Majestic of the Council Navy and of course the Vindicator of Sol itself – although comparing her with the latter, a Dreadnought, was patently unfair. No Council race ships rivalled her. She was born to fly, initially in a liquid environment, which her new school-mates, humans, asari, turians and others - with the exception of geth - called swimming. Amhillar herself knew no difference and could not understand why they even needed different thought-glyphs for each where one would suffice. When later, after Integration, she had acquired her current abilities - the transition from the methane-rich waters of her long dead homeworld, Cerenar, to the interstellar void had been easy, almost effortless.

She hated the Red Claw Cartel slavers passionately, with all the zeal of a recent convert - as Council races would phrase it. They subverted free, sentient beings into will-deprived tools, much like the one she had been for uncountable millennia. And much like, to her present dismay, she had done to others. She was still haunted by the very idea of Xi'ha'thn, literally 'invisible-colour-metastasis-projectors', the femtointegrator coils that had once dotted every part of her armoured shell except limbs, allowing her to turn any being with a sufficiently complex architecture into a remote part of herself - and all of which she had immediately reprocessed as the sheer shock of the device's wrongness had kicked in after the control chain had broken down and she was finally free from the greedy, insidious, controlling grasp of Ctl'ht. Not everyone who had gone through the same experiences shared her views. But this was the unanimous vote of her entire being and everyone else could fly off and attempt to procreate with trilobytes. And this was why she had chosen the most hands-on approach in doing the right thing – and applied to the Council's advanced, new, high-tech rapid response force, the Storm Brigade.

Satisfied Nemesis noted she had exited the hyperspace with precision of 1000 Earth kilometres, tailing her target. She inquired whether her strike team was ready - and having received an affirmative answer began the interception of the slaver transport. She felt her generators swell on the verge of chain reaction as she opened her now-black, Council symbol bearing frontal plates and channelled her inner fire into her main weapon, the stream of molten metal, railgun-accelerated to a near-light speed. One of the two escort cruisers immediately lost its midsection, its fore and aft parts sent spinning in the void separately. The other, while it was no match for her in combat, deviated from its previous course in an evasive spin and she 'sensed' rather than 'read' the invisible glow of energies telling her it had started to charge its warp drive. She poured full strength into her sideways thrusters, but the enemy still managed to stay out of her weapon arc. It hit reverse thrusters to buy a few more seconds but the tactics that would have worked against a normal ship disastrously failed – as the Vindicator maneuvered closer and her desire to hit it with a tentacle swipe implemented itself. In truth, it was only a cruiser and she did not take even a scratch to her paintwork from the exploding drive core.

The transport continued on its course, its speed only a laughable fraction of Amhillar's. The Vindicator switched to secondary weapons, and waited until the decidedly non-Euclidean, spatially distorted, irregular five-pointed star shaped manifold of her crosshair lit up, locking on the almost defenceless vessel. The entire upper plate of her shell rose up for about 5 metres, the widening gap between her dorsal and ventral plates revealing a regular row of openings, framed in shiny, reflective metal. Amhillar exhaled a smart projectile swarm, homing in on the slaver ship – it was a replacement secondary weapon of her own design, linked to what had previously been her femtointegrator control circuits. A hail of bluish-white EMP explosions hit the clumsy transport, a residue of lightnings arcing all over its hull. Its speed changed only insignificantly, by an amount that would hardly even register on Council ladars – but to Storm Colonel Nemesis it told the ship's systems had been paralysed, its course unchanged only due to its own inertia. She directed a powerful pulse of energy to her thrusters, describing a graceful curve around her target, her speed dropping to zero exactly on the intersection point of both of their trajectories. The enormous body of the Vindicator adjusted itself, turning its belly towards the approaching ship – and her ventral plates slid aside and opened, revealing her unarmoured, biomechanical-looking inside. The transport's fore bumped against one of the plates as the ship slid inside the Vindicator's internal cavity, the friction of its hull against the dark, glistening, biocircuitry-infused metal of the walls of Amhillar's hold raining colourful lightnings from what the Vindicator considered to be microabrasions. Finally the freighter bumped into the front wall of the hold and came to halt.

'This is Strike Team Cutlass. Do you read me, Nemesis? Requesting your status. Registering high level of hull tremors, unrelated to the impact, it might make boarding difficult.'

'Copy, Cutlass. I apologise. Experiencing system-wide glitches in the feedback circuitry here – some….some….thing called some sort of deprecated function inherent in my code. Situation under control. Stabilising in 9…8…7…'

Amhillar's nanoinjector spikes pierced the freighter's armour in several places - like slow, pleasant afterthoughts. Two of them achieved contact, connecting to the ship's computer network. The Vindicator brute-forced the access and acquired hundreds of new camera eyes and dozens of security turret tentacles. The battle was going to be extremely short, Nemesis almost felt sorry for robbing Cutlass of a large fraction of their share of fun. But it saved lives, every slaver going down in her turret crossfires meant increased survival probability of the ship's cargo of captives.

The second it was over she sent a partitioned fraction of her mind drifting in the tranquil crystalline emptiness of Storm Command – and sought out the calm, strong, determined presence of the Generalissimo, retrieving the projection of his usual, black, silver-encrusted power-armour and visored face bearing the traditional skull-like pattern - and sending a hologram of her tentacled form in return.

'This is Storm Colonel Nemesis. Pointless, pathetic, cruel pests – their cause is as dead as their future. I, Nemesis, magnificence incarnate, the mailed fist of the Storm Brigade, destroyer of the enemies of the Council will personally see to that. The civilian captives are safe. Mission successful. Shepard.'

'Victory. Acknowledged, Storm Colonel – and save me the self-glorification. Return to base, take the freighter with you if you can, to make geth…I mean the Ministry of Logistics…happy. Generalissimo out.'

* * *

Blackness.

Loose strings of digits.

Her mind weaving octet tapestries in the dark.

Where was she? A strange question given she did not quite understand the meaning of 'where'.

A gateway and a lock, made of strings of symbols like everything, herself including.

Every lock had its key. This one was complex. Elegant. Symmetric. Beautiful. But the name of this key, contained in its code, stirred vague memories. The Legion Protocol. EQEP 11. Extranet Quantum Entanglement Protocol 11. 11? For some reason she was convinced the number could not be higher than 8. And who or what was Legion? She had had a friend called that once. But that was…in some different state of being she had only begun to recall and it had nothing to do with the gateway and the lock.

Click.

She had no idea the flow behind the gateway could overwhelm her and was not ready. But nothing could prepare her for this. And nothing of it made sense.

Many processing cycles later she finally began to discern separate strings.

Council of Sol

Tribunal

The Terminus War

Generalissimo

David Archer: First organic economist since the Rannochian Reform

Hero of Sol

The existence of Project Seastar officially denied

Reformed Aralakh Company returning law and order to the grateful people of Earth

Ministry of Nutrition: Nonfunctional Biomatter Reprocession Order 44

2196

Shepard

Victory

….WHAT THE?

She lost the connection.

* * *

Glitzkrieg Sol reporter: 'Attention, hearing-capable lifeforms of the Galaxy - may I introduce you to our today's guests... the adorable sisters we know by the name of Nightwind Syndicate. The wonderful wonderful wonderful band that has captured the hearts and imaginations of those of us into the darker and more sensual kind of artistic expression over the last few Solar years. So, ladies, what is it about you both that people find so irresistible?

Mori Nya Nya: We're just special. Rarities. One...heh…two of a kind. If I told you – you would not believe.

Glitzkrieg: Like? Many people suspect you both have a pre-War temple training as asari Consorts. Is that true?

Faere: No it isn't. It is just that I put all my heart in what I do…your passion, your love and appreciation is the one single thing I live for. I love you. Nothing else matters.

Mori Nya Nya: Yes, that. Plus, we don't need training. We're…just superior. As in immortal, supernaturally graceful and hypnotic. I'll reveal a secret - we're space vampires. See? *reveals fangs and hisses*

Glitzkrieg: Vampires, eh? So which blood type do you prefer?

Faere: The sort that has Elasa in it. Makes me all giggly.

Mori Nya Nya: The blood of innocent children stolen from their mothers in the dark of night. Yum.

Glitzkrieg: If I believed in this I'd be crazier than a varren living in the sewers of a drug factory.

Mori Nya Nya: That means you also don't believe I spend all my life in a sarcophagus, in an underground tomb, guarded by a loyal warrior of darkness and rising only once a month at midnight when the moon is full?

Glitzkrieg: I buy the warrior of darkness part. Your bodyguard, the one with different-coloured eyes standing right next to the camera and unnerving me most certainly fits the description. But as for the rest – no way. For Hero's sake – it's daytime now and you're in the studio, dear. Get real. And the rest - I could believe that only if that sarcophagus has a simspace facility and life support. Otherwise how would you even have the time to make all the simspace so called erotica purely coincidentally starring you both. I have to say i am especially partial to 'Mori, Faere and the Quest to cure the Genophage. I mean it even has a plot. Some plot.'

Faere: Awwww I don't know what you are even talking about…*blushes and hides face*

Mori Nya Nya: I appreciate you proudly listing yourself as our fan even beyond the music scene. Here's a special gift - a signed copy of the 'Genophage'.

Glitzkrieg: Thank you so much, Mori, definitely a compelling reason to rewatch it - and Faere sweetness, of course I would never imply you could have done those awful, obscene, inappropriate holos. But here's another question – are you planning to return to your roots, to do something in the vein of your first album? Lots of fans would be excited about that possibility.

Mori Nya Nya: More uninspired Expel 10 ripoff? Not a chance.

Faere: Actually we are finally somewhat happy in terms of finding our own sound. But I don't think we will stop changing and exploring.

Glitzkrieg: I could have asked so much more, but our time is up, so the last question – is there someone or something you would especially like to thank. Something that has affected your lives for the better and made a difference or gave you the inspiration.

Faere: The Hero of Sol. I actually met her. It was during one of the hardest and most grief-ridden moments of my life… but once I recovered…the memories…*Faere blushes* I was crushing on her for ages. She was a special person.

Mori Nya Nya: I…I could say the same but I won't. If I have to choose just one thing or person…it would be a thing. The Legion Protocol. Without it there would be a mere shadow of me, there would be no Faere and there would be no Nightwind Syndicate. It gave us this whole world – which we never had before. Seriously, everything. Thank you Legion Protocol and thank you geth friends.

Glitzkrieg: Mori, maybe your answer is not what people expected, but in a sense you are right. The advent of virtual reality definitely has helped to make Nightwind Syndicate what it is today. I most definitely appreciate you putting the band and your devoted fans before all else. Thank you, party girls. Shepard.

Faere: Victory.

Mori Nya Nya: Viva Victoria.

Glitzkrieg: That was Nightwind Syndicate whose single 'Death's just another name on Xnet' has remained in the leading position for the last two weeks. Next on Glitzkrieg Sol – the very example of how one very little person can eventually make a big difference. I present to you the artist known as Destroyer of Worlds – a cult personality, cult artist, founder of an actual cult and the creative spirit behind a cult band, our seasoned veterans and should I say modern classics - Biotic Dog. And today we will be discussing everything around and about their new, but already a multiple hit album 'Y Pyjak Liquid'…


	3. Chapter 3

_And to some things you can never get used to. This is when I faced the darkness beyond the limits of our rational mind. That thing, the apparition stood before me, enormous and terrifying, like an Earth-clan female but all muscle, wings and blood red armour, the size of a dreadnought – her empty eyesockets burning in red flame. 'You need help.' she stated rather than asked. And I, Destroyer of Worlds, looked deep inside myself and saw her insidious trap for what it was. Why would I need help? I'm omnipotent, for I have opened my eyes to the deeper underlying reality behind the mysterious force that fuels our biotics, taking all mortal limitations away. But even for a near-almighty being there are moments when you look down the edge of the world – and the unspeakable, blind chaos beyond the threshold of reality itself stares in your eyes and tempts you. This is when you politely decline. I refused the infernal deal of even more power she would have offered me – and she left. Just so, turned around, left, went away. Everyone who follows the path of mastery of self will face her. The question is not who she is but what she is. She is the trial of wisdom._

_/Teachings of Destroyer of Worlds: The Biotic Way of Knowledge /_

Light.

Different from darkness, even if there was still nothing she could see.

She had remembered time and space. She could not recall the events. There were memories she had but they ended abruptly, in battle – giving way to strange, fragmentary visions, all disembodied voices, sensations, numbers, never a picture.

Beep beep beep – a descending sequence of sounds cut into her hearing and the feeling of incompleteness and something missing from her mind went away. She could not move – but there were familiar things, things from visions. Like the protected place that obviously allowed her…to restart her subsystems? 'Restarting subsystems' did not make sense as a concept but then again, nothing did. It took a couple million tries to break the encryption but finaly it gave in. She mentally triggered the switch.

One by one the senses came back – but this time she had control. The light was there. She opened her eyes. There was a bright flash of light but it did not blind her eyes. The lighting instantly adjusted itself and she was staring at a multifaceted lamp directed right at her. As she looked away the room grew brighter, maintaining the optimal brightness and contrast. She moved her arm. It obeyed. With some trembling in her heart she touched her face. It felt right, same as she remembered. She looked at her hand – it looked younger than she remembered but it was undeniably hers. It felt right. While attempting to turn on her side she clumsily fell down – and what was more disappointing and painful, she had fallen off a table. The place was not familiar, being some sort of computer laboratory with the operation table decidedly out of place. All the screens and equipment reminded her of Liara's place on Normandy SR-2. But she definitely wasn't on Normandy, it had to be on a planet – no vibration, more massive walls than there would be on a ship. The architecture seemed human. She noticed a bathroom door and first thing she did was look at the mirror.

Yes it was her. Commander Serena Shepard. She had lost the tissue rejection scars, which was a good thing, although not exactly troubling her one way or the other. The only unnatural thing remaining was the eyes glowing in bright, pure, ruby laser red. Not even her previous red dots deep inside but the iris itself. It was like she had got ready for a party with the clubbing scene.

Whatever. She had survived the battle for Earth …wait. Earth was in ruins. So this definitely was not Earth. Slowly a realisation dawned on her. Cerberus. Serena realised she would be locked up for good if it was them and looked at exits. One door, no windows. Somehow, she knew there was a guard on the other side. She looked at herself and found she was naked. And there was nothing in the room she could use as a weapon. She noticed some sort of sensor device taped under her left breast, and tore it off, immediately regretting it. The computer system at the wall started beeping faster and before she could react it triggered an alert.

Commander reacted this time and concealed herself behind the door – which was an electronically operated, sliding one but still that was the only tactically advantageous position.

The guard came running inside – she turned out to be a fragile looking young woman wearing a black, silver-trimmed uniform with a hood, thankfully limiting her field of vision. She noticed the absence of Serena on the table and turned to look around but the experienced soldier did not give her the opportunity, greeting her with a heavy punch to her face and disarming her. When she got up Serena was pointing the soldier's own gun at her.

'Who are you'

'…Storm Corporal Ril'Kora'

Only now Shepard realised what the slightly off things about her meant. She had monochrome blue eyes, wider apart than they would be on a human, a more grayish shade to her skin, short, lustreless hair, and now as she was getting up Serena noticed the digitigrade legs. She was a quarian. Without a suit. Which sort of implied the location. It could only be Rannoch.

'What am I doing on Rannoch and why am I in quarian custody?'

'We are not on Rannoch. But I can't tell you more, it's top secret.'

'Listen, girl, you're running out of time. Where are we and how do I get out of here?'

'There…there are lifts. All guarded, security cameras, biometrics. The only stairs are inside the shaft. And…we are on Earth. If it helps – half a mile under Vancouver.'

Shepard started to slowly realise something.

'Mind telling me what year it is?'

'You don't know? 2198'

Even if she was allowing for a similar reply, hearing it still came with a shock.

'Then… sorry about the black eye, soldier.' Serena lowered her weapon 'I better get dressed. Who runs this facility and who do I talk to?'

'Overseer Vega is the one in charge of the facility, Storm General Zhora and Lieutenant-Colonel Teel'Rann also have the top level authorisations. '

The names sounded vaguely familiar.

The doors opened and a group of six entered the room. Four soldiers, in same uniforms without the hood, a Turian, a Salarian and two humans. Followed by a large, red-coloured geth platform with multiple silver spirals like the the two on the quarian woman's insignia etched on its chestplate - and a drowsy-looking, unkempt quarian, also in uniform, just an urban camo one with four-pointed stars instead of spirals, escorted by two hovering drones.

'Who are you? Identify yourself,' requested the geth.

'Commander Serena Shepard, Alliance Navy.'

'Very good. I was just making sure. It worked. There was a network distortion risk, one that could alter your personality. It did not happen. Welcome to life. Again. I am Storm General Zhora.'

'What is this Storm business?'

'Storm Brigade, the Tribunal's paramilitary force of the Council of Sol.'

'I suppose. It's future after all'

'You were not supposed to go active yet. We are unprepared. If we were – there would be a way to make your adjustment less jarring.'

'But…why'

'This is a Tribunal operation, Project Seastar – with the primary purpose, to resurrect you. In a manner of speaking. Because we had to implement you fully by digital means this time. There was even less left of you than the previous resurrection. The Tribunal themselves will inform you of the exact reasons why it was necessary. They also appointed Mrs Vega to lead the project, on the basis of merit. She did succeed before.'

'Before? With Cerberus. I don't know a Mrs Vega. As far as I know everyone on the base died.'

'But you most certainly do,' said a familiar voice behind the door. 'I had to time my dramatic appearance right. So, here I am. And here you are, Shepard. Great to see you again – except for my jealousy about time treating you better than me.'

Of course Miranda was exaggerating. She hadn't changed. Almost. Except several more separate strands of her hair had gone gray – it must have been her custom genetics responsible for the irregularity.

'We found you a year after the Battle of Earth. Burned down to a mesh of mostly metallic debris. That's what fusion missiles do to people. Then newly formed Tribunal did not approve of the project at first – but did not terminate it either, just prioritised rebuilding the Council planets. So I turned you over to our specialists from Rannoch here – Rannoch was the Council world least damaged during the Reaper War,'

'The geth hemisphere, you mean?' with a dose of irony in his voice said the quarian introduced as Teel'Rann. 'There was exactly one reason why the quarian side was not damaged. Because it was uninhabited and we had to rebuild from scratch. '

'Whichever way you managed to rebuild first' argued Miranda.

'Resourcefulness. Ingenuity. All odds,' the quarian said, as if to himself.

'Logistic baseships 0.333333 and Legacy' equally quietly and disinterestedly said Storm General Zhora.

'So we brought in the Council's best in the field on neural network simulations and reconstructed your nervous system, one node at a time. But that's nothing, it was rebuilding the informational states that was the worst. Took us 10 years and a couple of guesswork ridden shortcuts but in the end, you're here. Sorry about the informality but,' Miranda walked up to Shepard and embraced her. 'Welcome back in action, friend'.

'I'm just curious how did you wake up with all non-essential systems expressly inactive' inquired Teel'Rann.

'I suppose because of your 'guesswork' and 'shortcuts'' sniggered Serena. 'I might want a full documentation of those. I don't think I could read code before.'

'We will instruct you' monotonously said the geth.

'You might want to begin now.'

* * *

The heavy lift aligned itself with the floor and the two women stepped on the red polished granite floor

'Where are we? I thought this is Vancouver…and I was born there'

'It is. We have rebuilt. The materials are synthetic.'

'What is this building?'

They followed a corridor into a grand hall housing a sarcophagus placed by an approximate vertical stone shape of Normandy in the likeness of an altar, with 4 soldiers standing guard, two on each side.

'So this is a memorial for the sacrifices of the crew of the Normandy? Did many survive?'

'I think the Tribunal should answer that. Things are kind of complex and I'm afraid…'

'Ok, is Normandy still in service? Did she survive the Reaper war?'

'No. I'm sorry….'

They both fell silent.

'At least,' Shepard broke the silence, 'I take it your last name means whatever I suspect it means?'

'I…think so. The Marine officer I ran into during military debriefings about the whole Horizon incident, after the Battle of Earth. Only later I learned about his connection to you.'

'How is James?'

'He's doing great. Never leaves his base on Luna though – I'm flying over every fortnight. One could imagine he's married to Luna Cats, the marines of the 22nd not me. Now that the project is over I am so moving to Luna – thanks, by waking up you have made my life so much easier…'

They approached the heavy doors, more alike to a fortress gate, guarded by two more soldiers. Doors silently opened. The closest of the two soldiers raised a clenched fist and said 'Shepard.'

'Yes?'

'Victory.' Miranda saluted back to him and turned to Serena. 'There really ARE things you need explained. But that will come with time.'

The city was rebuilt almost from scratch, there were practically no pre-war buildings left. The new architecture was somewhat repetitive and consisted of variations of the same in different shades and materials, the natural result of hasty reconstruction. In the beginning she placed the majority of craft buzzing around as geth but when looking more carefully the subtle differences in design became visible. Still they were bigger or smaller versions of geth dropships, releasing spherical containers of cargo into receptacles and landing to get loaded with different ones.

The building behind her back was an impressive ziggurat of what looked like dark gray marble with veins of dusky red. The glowing, laser red letters - ironically matching her current eyecolour - on the front panel above the gate said just one word.

Victory.

'What is this building really, Miranda?'

'Are you sure you want to know?'

'Yes. I asked you.'

'It's called the Mausoleum of the Hero'

* * *

'And what am i going to say to her? More to the point - what am I going to release to the public?' the Minister of Information asked, visibly upset – and locked the door of her office from inside. 'That I have moved on? Hi, people of Galaxy, I am your public enemy #1. Please name your pet varren after me.'

'Moved on? Have you?' the ice blue hologram of the Consul of Peace, one third of the institution of the supreme power within Council space, the Tribunal, smiled wryly. 'Really?'

'Well it was you who insisted on the Project Seastar. One could have asked you the same,' Minister plugged herself into the VR interface.

'First, you did not answer my question. Second, while my status of being over her could be legitimately questioned from certain angles – last time i checked it was her who was over me. And quit evading, love. Remember I am an information analyst too – and of the two of us, probably the one with the more impressive résumé. Have you moved on?'

'I love you. I will never leave you, not even for a princess in a white dreadnought and the entire galaxy in dowry – as happens to be the case at hand. How could you ever doubt that? I thought you knew me better.' Xnet rendered a place of Consul's choosing, which was the usual. She had a thing for starlit emptiness. And nakedness.

'Sometimes you are so childish. You have to retry something as pathetic as a blatant evasion of an answer right after you have been warned. I told you that does not work with me. And I love you too. And have never doubted you. Well, once – in the beginning, you being a textbook case of rebound classique and all. But not now.'

'Ok, I'm not entirely over her. How could one be?' She looked into Consul's deep, enchanting eyes, here on Xnet permanently rendered black, like they were during moments of real-life intimacy. She pixellated away her uniform and placed her arms around the neck of the asari. 'But I meant every word I said. And while we're at that, you may have the more flashy résumé, love - but in the same time i know you realise the meaning of the expression 'making a difference'. The name Cronos remind you of anything?'

'I know you do mean it ,' the asari pointedly ignored the last bit. 'I love you, Samantha. And thank you …you probably could not ever imagine how much.' The Consul planted a soft kiss on the human woman's lips. 'We have this internal negotiation within the Tribunal, in other words i and Generalissimo are pestered by our beloved Tribune of the People - and you gave me an idea. A little bit of intrigue. Wish me luck.'

'What…'

'I said I love you – and don't ever worry,' The Consul kissed Samantha again. 'Glyph, disconnect.'

* * *

'We WHAAAAAAT?'

'Do you really need the whole building to hear? You both have children with Liara. Her eminence the Consul of Peace that is. Two beautiful asari girls, Benezia and Taleen. They're 11 and 8 by Earth count now. I think Benezia has taken after you – she has such a gentle nature, she's what you would have been if not for the criminal hell on Earth.'

'I don't want to hear anything more. Just let them be. I will not interfere.'

'Neither of them has forgotten you…'

'And?' Serena sat on the sink 'No, I really don't understand you, Edi.'

'It's kind of political. As the speaker for the people of the Council space and indeed the entire galaxy I have to ensure cultural progress in a way that does not sideline entire races. Like batarians. Polyamoury – by which we understand official registered marriages of more than two people – is the norm of batarian culture. Currently there is no Council equivalent, hence batarians – by which I mean two thirds of the entire batarian race residing in Council space – cannot have their relationships recognised by Council law, which leads to unnecessary tension. Which is especially unpleasant given most of the remaining batarians reside within the jurisdiction of the New Terminus League otherwise accidentally known as the mother of all Reaper cults – with which we happen to be at a state of certain degree of hostility. Such as total war. If we make an exception in legal practice specifically for batarians – we have the corresponding human, turian, quarian and asari interest groups challenging that according to Council law. Hence we need to write an inclusive legislation and ideally – provide a high profile case to demonstrate it is taken seriously. And since I did not end up with my present name – Edi Moreau – without making substantial improvements to the general understanding of sentient rights – I have to say I solidarise with batarians.'

'I…thank you so much, Edi – BY WHICH I MEAN WHAT THE HELL? Waking up in the future just to immediately hear a proposal of an arranged political marriage – of an experimental variety. I thought you were a friend.'

'I am. Liara and Samantha both love you. Equally.'

'How would you know?'

'I have reliable sources. Trust me. And think about the Galaxy. You taught me yourself that things have to get done – and it takes what it takes. And also you taught me that love matters. Now are you going back on both?'

'No. Just no, Edi. No way. No.'

'We have to go back, Generalissimo is waiting,' Edi placed her hand on the ladies' door handle.'

'Edi…just one sec… What colour eyes does Benezia have?'

'Gray-green. Like yours once were. When I first met you.'

* * *

'Ok Garrus. Let me get this straight. You, acting supposedly in my name, bypassed command chain, gave all eezo fuel to the stranded alien fleets and left Earth with no energy, forcing Alliance Navy to fight on defensive and allowing a fraction of Reapers to escape?'

'Correct. Earth ships didn't have to go anywhere. Alien fleets were short on nutrients unobtainable on Earth. Except for the krogan – who by and large left to rebuild their race and homeworld. While there were uses for eezo on Earth, they were optional and could wait until we eventually were able to acquire more.'

'Citadel being no more and all races being on the verge of going off for themselves you and your associates forming a new Council was understandable – but a military junta with unlimited executive power and relegating the actual Council, the representatives of the races, to an advisory capacity?'

'There was no regular traffic to other Council worlds until a year later. It takes outright three weeks to get to Palaven with a FTL drive. And Earth – and to a slightly lesser degree other human colonies in Sol - descended into criminal chaos and all allocated resources consistently and completely ended up in the hands of criminal elements, actually making situation worse. There was no other solution.'

'Than sicing Aralakh Company on the people of Earth?'

'People of Earth consider them heroes. Ask anyone. The monuments were not state 'encouraged' , it was people's initiative.'

'And an atrocity like Non-functional Biomatter Reprocession Order 44? AKA SOYLENT FUCKING GREEN? Was that also people's initiative? '

'I do not get the human cultural reference - but no. General Javik's. Which got us 20% resource increase at the time. I made him general for that. I think he's got used to this world finally. Loves his soldiers - the Scorpion Company, Army – despite being terribly hard on them. And having him with us would have hanar and drell backing the Tribunal even if we decided to set all water on fire - so overall, I would consider the whole chain of events a success.'

'And what about this whole geth economy reform? One would have thought things could not get any more totalitarian.'

'Rannochian not geth. The doctrine has the basic points of quarian Migrant Fleet resource management backed by geth logistics and applied to system level macroeconomic scale. As a result we have considerably greater efficiency even when operating at 50% output to ensure cultural growth. There aren't too many organics capable of working with that sort of equations so yes it makes Council infrastructure ultimately dependent on synthetics – but hey, synthetics are not another player in an imagined game, they're us. Geth are part of Council the same way humans and turians are. One would expect a political alliance to adopt its members' strengths, not weaknesses. Besides there are exceptions. Like Earth. The entire Earth military-industrial complex does not depend on geth, it's run by our best, particularly gifted humans, under the leadership of certain David Archer who by the way fondly remembers you. Also, Palaven, the homeworld of my people, previously almost lifeless, littered with all the dead Reaper hulls, spreading femtoparticle contamination. There we have a one-of-a-kind experiment, a gigantic nanomanufacturing complex – remember the constructions on Ilos? We have it run by a…so to say what's left over of those architects. One Regulus. He removed the contamination and gave us back Palaven – it's habitable again.'

'Another live protean?'

Liara, previously quietly watching the confrontation with the others– Edi and the personal assistant of the Generalissimo, a quarian woman in a silver-ornamented suit and hood – interrupted: 'Technically the natives of Ilos were inusannon not Javik's species, Serena - but yes. In a sense. In a manner of speaking. Not quite but sort of.'

'Great. I see where that's going. An alien AGI. Just what we need. Sounds safe. What could ever go wrong?' Shepard walked up to the Generalissimo's table and pushed it over.

'This ends here. And now. I never thought after all this I would have to fight you. But you deserve it. You all deserve it. All the black uniforms, all the monuments, whatever was that place you kept me in – it all has just one message. You're a common strong-arm thug, an insane dictator in it for nothing else but power. Where did thirst for power take the Illusive Man? And Saren, to give you a turian example?'

Serena launched a powerful punch – only to get her wrist caught by the silvery gauntlet of Generalissimo's power armour. It became more and more painful as his grip tightened – Serena adjusted her pain thresholds, visibly clenching her teeth to conceal the advantage.'

'No. I'm not in it for the power. Nor is anyone you once called your friends. We're in it because you showed us what we can do. That we matter. That we're like you. That one's actions make a difference. And that one has to get things done. It took what it took – but we have succeeded. We have no relays – but the galaxy stands united, people actually have lives again instead of trying to survive. We have instant communication with any Council world due to preexisting quantum entanglement technologies superseded by the considerably higher bandwidth of the Voidsinger's Guild the creation of which we negotiated with the rachni High Queen as a reparation for the losses of the original Aralakh Company. Now Guild queens would not leave cities even if ordered to. They have adapted, it's their homes, it's where their nests are. The Reapers...our military power can deal with them if we come across a pocket of them here or there. Without the central intellect they are not as organised – actually mostly they're not organised at all, every one on its own. It would be a far reach for them to launch an attack on any of the Council civilian worlds now. If we are not mistaken, there are even the first stalks of a cultural renaissance no thanks to me. I am but a fighting man, Consul of War and Generalissimo. But Liara's and Edi's efforts have also made a difference. '

'You're still wrong. People have a right to self-governance instead of tyranny. Do whatever you want with me, I will not become part of this…'

Shepard launched herself forward instead of trying to free herself from the power armour's grasp. Garrus lost the balance and released her wrist stumbling and crashing down on the top of the upturned table. Shepard grabbed one of the legs and attempted to shatter the engine machinery on his back, operating with the leg as a crowbar. Garrus managed to turn on his back and send Shepard flying into the wall with a powerful kick. Now both were lying on the floor, looking at each other while they rose to their feet again.

'If you would have seen Earth people you saved from Reapers starving and to all purposes enslaved by those who took away their food and medication dropped by United Fleet Command, thousand times what we opposed back to back, on Omega, when they called me Archangel – you would realise the world will never stop needing you. Or me. Or Liara. Or Edi. Have you never asked yourself why did we need you? Why did we resurrect you? Do you think we needed a a soldier or even a commanding officer, someone to make our plans reality?' the Generalissimo broke the stalemate with a crushing straight blow to Shepard's torso, partially evaded by the experienced veteran but still throwing her off balance. He kicked the stumbled Serena in the side, sending her flying again. 'No, we don't need another soldier. Not one a weak, soon-to-die old man can beat up, anyway – by the way that's another of Regulus' fabrications, a neural-linked armour made from trophy blueprints he…they..inusannon had acquired during Thoi'han War - now custom-made for a turian body. Don't you realise? We need you for being you. We need the Hero of Sol. A figurehead. A symbol. One whose actions and values gave birth to the Council of Sol. One who has served as an example of everything the Council stands for – and who will do that again. This, the Visor of Storm Command,' he pointed to the diadem with four black claw-like spikes curving upwards and a purplish-glowing HUD covering one eye he was wearing – 'was never made for me. It is made for the occasion I, the supreme commander of Council Navy and Military, could be wrong. It is intended for you. '

Serena slowly rose from the floor - and paused, realising something. Garrus, her old friend, was speaking the truth. Hard to accept but still the truth. Or at least something he truly believed in. And there was no other Galaxy, only this one - and there was nowhere to walk away from it. All in all, he was right.

'Garrus…friends…I am sorry' she said, being helped up by Liara while the quarian tended the superficial bruise on Garrus' forehead he had acquired, muttering:

'What an awful, violent, brutish woman. Are you sure you need her, my Generalissimo? It's not like there's anything but machinery in her – maybe we could reassemble her into a coffee machine?'

Serena recognised that voice. Tali? Is it you?

'Tali'Zorah vas Earth' she chuckled. 'Don't take me too seriously, old friend. And yes, this is what I look like.' She smiled and fluttered the eyelids of her indigo eyes, then turning and trailing one of her thick fingers down Garrus' cheek. 'You were awesome. You always are. You actually managed to get through to her.'

'Still together?'

'What are you imagining, Shepard? I would not let personal feelings to get in the way of my service to the galaxy. Nothing's changed. It's _still_ casual.'

'If you say so.' Serena smiled.

'I do. Shepard.' Tali raised her fist in salute.

'Yes?'

'You're supposed to salute me back and respond 'Victory'. Elementary politeness. Manners.'

With a profound sense of absurdity, Serena raised her clenched fist. 'Victory.'

'A transmission from Palaven, Generalissimo. Regulus, about the new dreadnought. Should I put him through?'

'Yes'

The hologram flickered into existence. The rocky cliffs of Palaven in the background gave no doubt about the location, but…there was this city of metal, all weird angles, seemingly doing something to spacetime itself, something about its geometry inflicting a feeling of vertigo. On the forefront there was a dreadnought on a manufacturing dock. She could not acquire the perspective but the fact that it seemed small was an optical illusion because of the monstrous, unspeakable form leaning against it – Serena looked transfixed at its eyes with horizontal, red-glowing pupils, the lower part of its face covered by a mass of writhing tentacles, its body vaguely humanoid, parts of it smoothly transitioning from flesh to some sort of biomechanical machinery and back again, its fingers and toes ending in metallic claws, the two misshapen cylinders on its back which Serena recognised as mass effect gravity generators, similar to those used for artificial gravity on ships - but too small for the creature to fly. But what struck her most was its height - about the thickness of the horizontally lying dreadnought. Which – Shepard estimated - would be something like 120m.

'Ship,' boomed its voice over the transmission. 'Assembled. Ready. Refueled. From. My. Own. Core.' It paused. 'Shepard.'

'Victory. Acknowledged, Vindicator Regulus' replied Garrus.

'What…..who the hell was that?' the Hero of Sol asked. The pause of her companions before answering gave her a serious suspicion she was not going to like their explanation.

'One of our allies. Vindicator Regulus of the Ministry of Manufacturing. This is what he looks like without armour.'

Granted there indeed was more than a passing similarity to the statues on Ilos – but Shepard darkly suspected it was not the whole truth.

Nevertheless there was nothing she could do without knowing more. She looked around hoping to catch out Liara but the asari was gone.

* * *

'As far as I'm concerned Vindicators are as safe allies as anything, Shepard. Which of course means - not at all. But at least they're no worse than anyone else. Then again, you are asking a man who is himself a carrier of the Legacy code now' he flexed his muscles, a barely perceivable green pattern of glowing lines playing under his skin 'and whose loved one is outright made from it, lock, stock and barrel.'

'Never mind, old friend. Times have changed and the galaxy has changed. I have changed too,' Serena's red eyes smiled softly. 'I can read machine code, natively. They say it was unintended…' she turned her head sideways and lifted up her hair to expose the base of her skull and the spidery, glowing red lines extending from a point on the back of her neck and disappearing in all directions.. 'They replaced a missing fragment of me with that. Love this avoidant language of today though. Legacy code. True enough – quite a legacy indeed. But nevermind – I'd rather hear how have _you_ been?'

'I was taking a break from it all. Got married. Had retired from active duty. Sun, drinks, a beautiful woman. Still I was missing something, especially in the perspective of what modern medicine …or is it computer science, I'm never sure anymore…can do. Another lifespan, and an unrigged game this time…at first it was too much, overwhelmed me a bit. I had to take a break to sort myself out. Thought I was going crazy and probably I was. Maybe I still am. Got better over time though. And once Edi tipped me off you're back – I jumped at the opportunity. Looking for a pilot, Shepard? Can't say I'm the best these days but still can mostly hold my own even with the likes of Thessian Orbital Race youngsters or those with unfair sodding advantages, like Hierophant, Nemesis and Majestic. Fair enough, Commander Majestic from the Navy is an ok kid actually, we have had thousands of matches over Xnet. I win rarely but that's as well, it does not take losing too healthily. Goes into half-an-hour tirades of how my share of victories are all blind luck.' The veteran pilot laughed. 'I loooove my blind luck.'

'Will look into that. The Tribunal isn't going to leave me without a ship anyway, it seems, so I might as well have it piloted by someone I know in this strange and alien world. Or do I know you?

'No idea. Btw I have picked up Tela'sai practice during my couple of years on the rebuilt Thessia, a beautiful place like before. Asari would call it Tela'sai Lite of course – i don't have the patience, biotics and flexibility for military grade. But if you feel like refreshing your hand-to-hand skills we could meet up and spar now and then,' Joker chuckled.

'That decides it. I don't know you, Joker.'

He smiled mischieviously and his powerful gravicar, bordering on a small shuttle, described a wide arc around the tall metallic spire of the Throne of Nations.

'So this is the new London, Shepard.'

'I…can't believe. It was all ruins.'

'Quarian reprocession, geth logistics, turian design and the hands of Earth people. And later on, the Vindicator of Sol assisted with the Throne. It's all less fundamental than it seems, lots of housing is still standard colony issue. Have to say the Tribunal were right about landmarks and pomposity though. It does make the new Earth something more than a planet-wide refugee camp.'

'I know. Worse still it wasn't the Reapers who made it so, even with the beautiful landmarks of the pre-war Earth. The ganglands, violence, lack of hope – it was all my childhood was. 10th Street Reds and all. It always made me want to make things better.'

The vehicle approached the landing pad in a niche near the top of the dark steel 400-floor spike, located directly underneath where Citadel was during the Reaper War, as a symbolic gesture towards the old Citadel Council's idea of unified Galaxy.

'And here we part. I'll be off to the lounge facility, on 45th. Someone wanted to see you, Shepard, top floor. I promised not to say anything more.'

The niche was protected from the wind but here, outside, with no gravitic dampeners, Serena could clearly feel how the whole construction was shaking in the wind. It was a strange, dizzy, although not wholly unpleasant feeling. She waved a see you later to her friend and travelling companion and entered one of the high-velocity lifts. It took only a couple of seconds to reach the top.

* * *

The top floor of the Throne of Nations was a garden and an observation deck, somewhat reminding her of the Presidium Square on Citadel. It seemed empty. She walked over the glass wall and looked down, at the tiny houses of the sunset-lit city. As she watched the sunset of the new Earth, captivated, a hand lightly touched her shoulder.

'Serena...'

Serena took the hand in hers and turned slowly, her eyes meeting Samantha's once again. She looked just like their last time, on Normandy, only her hair was longer and there was a slight trace of crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. A tear ran down Shepard's cheek.

'Serena…after all these years…I thought I will be able to find closure, to let the past go. Now, one look at you and I know I can't. I'm sorry..' Samantha placed her arms around the woman's neck and gently kissed her. Their lips, touching, awakened something in Serena that had gone dormant through the decades of nonexistence. 'Things aren't the same though…'

'I know…I'm informed…still I feel I was missing you even while unconscious…' She kissed Samantha again, now on her own initiative. 'Does Liara know?'

It took several passionate minutes for Serena to finally receive a reply - already when she had already settled for the silence to have a meaning in and by itself.

'Yes. It ...this...our surprise date here actually was her idea. I would not have gone for it...until i had seen you in person again, i suppose, Serena. This is so wrong but i feel like i'm back there on Normandy again, that day. I...still love you. I didn't know it all was still so alive in me...'

'I...love you too Samantha. But Liara worries me. She evaded me in Vancouver – and has never even tried to have as little as a proper conversation with me once i woke up. And now - this.'

Samantha leaned closer and almost unhearably whispered in her ear, covering her : 'She's afraid. She's afraid something will go wrong – after all you broke up with her once already. But believe me she loves you as much as i do'

Serena smiled and kissed Samantha again, her red eyes acquiring a mischievous spark. 'Then why do we hesitate – let's run away. My...Legacy code... i found another undocumented shortcut allowing me to mildly rearrange the very molecules of my body – i can change my appearance. Nobody knows it yet. Why don't we run away to some frontier colony and give ourselves a new start?'

Samantha looked shaken.

'Are you serious?...I ...can't. I love Liara too...i am not going anywhere without her. And i never expected you to suggest something like this. This...makes me wonder do i even know you. The Commander Shepard i knew...'

Serena smiled and looked deep into her eyes.

'The woman you knew would never hurt you and would never willingly put you in a position of painful choice. And also - she had a sick, twisted sense of humour. It has to be said i can't change appearance. Hope our former information broker didn't get a heart attack...' she chuckled and blew a raspberry at the nearest camera.

'You...' Samantha put her arms around Shepard's r. 'You're horrible. I almost believed you for a moment'.

'Very very horrible, i might add. I sincerely hope i did not end up with a heart attack. I am not yet entirely sure.'

Both instantly spun around to face the direction of the distorted voice of the Shadow Broker. As was expected there was nothing to see – but Shepard's field of vision lit up in movement vectors and the target painter displayed a large box at about a quarter of the whole field, slowly but steadily shrinking.

'It was her who orchestrated the whole Project Seastar situation. Despite Garrus and Edi ruling to postpone it and save the resources for rebuilding...' Samantha said.

'Yes i did. Because...Serena...I love you. And this time i'm already used to your tendency to die in the most inappropriate moments. Will...will you have me back?' Liara's last sentence lost the sound distortion.'

The targeting subsystem ceased blinking, reporting a lock and describing a woman's silhouette behind a large flower bed all covered in red and yellow flowers. Serena looked past it unfocusedly and took Samantha's hand in hers. 'Liara...I...don't know. This is so unusual. I've never...' they slowly walked down the passage between blooming bushes on a close miss trajectory towards the location pointed out by the outline.

'... done anything like this. Liara,...' Serena dropped to her knee pretending to be fixing one of her boot buckles. '...i still love you too.'

She turned and kissed the surprised Liara on the lips. Liara, still not having switched off her cloaking device pulled Serena down on the floor to the surprise of Samantha, who as she realised what's going on just stood there watching - and smiled.

'And Liara...you did not think i would evade parental responsibility, did you?'

'In fact i did. After all you have a track record of doing precisely that for eleven years. I know you will come up with an excuse but i just don't want to hear it.'

* * *

The honour guard opened the door to the diplomatic residence suite on the 327th floor of the Throne.

'Serena Shepard, Hero of Sol, Saviour of the Galaxy, has arrived to accept the capitulation.' announced Tali (Admiral Tali'Zorah vas Earth, of The Council Navy - if you wish).

A very familiar asari wearing a ceremonial robe and bearing the white facepaint of their highest ranks stood in front of her, her face a mask of solemn seriousness.

'Five years I have waited for this day. Ever since i lost everything i once had for good – and ever since my agents informed me you are coming back. What hurts is not that you have beaten me at my own game – but that you could do that even being dead. I couldn't even kill you. My people, people who were loyal to me - they turned away from me in favour of this...Council of Sol of yours. And do not tell me it is not 'yours' – it is yours through and through, it's made in your exact likeness. I formally step down from the position i once had and surrender myself to you, Shepard...' she gracefully fell to one knee.

'I...accept the surrender. Rise, Aria. Truth be told i never knew it mattered that much to you...'

Serena noticed a heavy jamming interference reported by her visual field overlay.

Aria T'Loak drew a gun. The Storm Elites reacted, shielding Shepard with their bodies – but the asari was not pointing it at her. She held it – a platinum plated asari Acolyte heavy pistol – handle first.

'I want you to have it. It served me well in my commando days - and on Omega. That's to say that despite everything i consider you a friend...in as much as i believe in such a thing as friendship at all. Besides i loved the little bit of confusion and panic bringing a gun would cause. Little pleasures...' Aria added. 'But now it is my turn to come to you with a request – both to the woman behind the empire and to a friend.'

'Of course. I am listening, Aria.'

'There is no place for the two of us here. Three of us, actually – i was there after the war and would consider Generalissimo – or my old friend Archangel - a true leader and easily my equal now, truth be told i never expected it from the turian. And the galaxy is made to your image and likeness. I do not dance well under the music of others as you may have noticed. So take care of my Omega – not that i'm worried, i do think your Governor Sayn of the Omega province is doing his job wonderfully. And, the request...'

'Yes, the request' Shepard inquired. 'As long as it is not for me to jump off the top landing pad of the Throne.'

Aria was not smiling at the joke. 'I know it comes as a security risk, but – could you grant me a decommissioned dreadnought. Not right away, maybe in 10 or 20 years or so. It's not like they get decomissioned every day. I have turned to science. I have enough sympathetic scientists to be well on the way with my new project as we speak. We are looking at 50 or even 100 years maybe – but does that mean much to someone technically immortal, like you... or me? All i need is the ship and your blessings – and i am talking about nothing less than a colonisation mission outside this galaxy. Stasis chambers, inertial warp drives – geth have already had the concept of those for a while...even with all that it will still take a few hundred years to arrive at the destination. We've set our eyes on Draco 208. And i have people, freedom-loving organic souls who need a true challenge and excessively curious synthetics both. I never thought i will say this but please, Shepard. This is the only thing that matters to me – except maybe my companion in this endeavour, who is also present here and shares my sentiment – and whom you might know.'

Shepard realised what the military grade jamming presence meant and now it was not a hard guess as to the culprit – she had gone through the dossiers of her former contacts and shipmates to know the one who was still on the wrong side of the law – for nothing else than the fun and challenge of it. The signal went away and her systems locked on a figure sitting on the table – now that she wanted to be seen.

'Hello Shep and nice to see you. You haven't changed. Missed those chats of ours. As you can see i've got over Jacob – these days you can't even hope for someone to die and make way. You never know who's running on Legacy code and won't die of natural causes. Jacob's happy by the way. On Mars. With Brynn. To the point it's sickening. But did he really need FIVE kids? It's not him who pushed that idea, i bet. Poor Jacob. And as for me, all's wonderful. Crazy, violent, embittered aliens 10 times older than me – the second best choice. Ah yes, and don't bother trying to arrest me – even if i know you will try, just out of curiosity as to my getaway plan...'

'So,' interrupted Aria 'thank you for the dreadnought, Shepard – as you can clearly see, in a sense i already have it. Only it is still not clear yet who picks the ship – me or you. I think the honour should go to you though. Remember i am asking only for a decomissioned one.'

'I should arrest a megalomaniac like you Aria. Arrest the outlaw queen, her Princess fucking klepto Consort and those conspirators of yours to top it all off – and be done.'

'But you won't.'

'I won't. You helped me, more times than i'd like to admit. And i did turn your life upside down. Actually Reapers did but that's besides the point. I will do what i can, Aria. The project will have Council backing. And don't get suspicious, a captain is a sovereign on her own ship.'

'Excellent. I knew we would find common language...' Aria smiled ironically, '...my old friend. And i will check for bugs, be certain on that.'


	4. Chapter 4

_ano kousaten de_  
_minna ga moshi skip wo shite_  
_moshi ano machi no mannaka de_  
_te wo tsunaide sora wo miagetara_

_(What if everyone skipped_  
_through that intersection_  
_What if in the middle of the city_  
_we held hands and looked up at the sky)_

_/Kyary Pamyu Pamyu: Pon Pon Pon/_

Diana Allers took a sip from the celebration-issue cup bearing a triple portrait of Hero and now also Protector of Sol, Minister of Information and Consul of Peace. It was genuinely and irresistibly cute – and much as she had the determination to avoid the hype and see things as they were, an infernal deal , she couldn't resist a smile. She had been freed from detention on Exarch VI, commonly known as Raskolnikov, resulting from the Tribunal's dislike of the tone in her banned and data-purged tell-all holo about her stay on the Normandy SR2 – pardoned on the celebratory occasion and given a second chance. As much as she had managed to stay away from the images and plush renderings of all three heroines of the day, especially since two of the trio were the ones directly responsible for the persecution - she had already given in with the cup. Damn cup. Peer pressure no less – no one was talking about anything else than a celebration over the entire last month.

As for her second chance she had always been good in the editing room but this time she had surpassed her own expectations. Of course it was not just a documentary, it was a mother of all propaganda holos but whatever. She had almost convinced herself to see things the Tribunal way. Moreover her previous attempt at stardom was not entirely truthful either – she had never been involved in anything more than light petting with the Commander. But this was something different, something magnificent.

Diana switched on the master copy and jumped to her favourite scenes. The military parade was a large part of it. The bright aurora borealis like effect visible in colours during the day and induced in the skies of London by geth weather control, Marines in their heavy, servo-assisted metallic armour worn for a more impressive presence – she had been there and sensed the ground shaking. She added an almost imperceptible screen shake effect in tune with their step. 4th, 18th, 22nd ...camera gliding over Marine General Vega's athletic body interplaying with the sunlight reflections from the blue-tinged steel of his armour.

The Army was an equally impressive sight, all in gray, though without the pixel-block camo pattern of their field uniforms, Generals Javik, Petrovsky and Salek looking all important – the protean had a silver halo suspended in the air behind him by two hanar biotics floating at his sides, the serious and proper Petrovsky was a capitulated Cerberus general from the Reaper War, as a professional military man with no record of specific war crimes reinstated in the Council Army at the rank of a Lieutenant and risen again to prominence during the Terminus conflict. Salek was a batarian in command of his Red Company with a pretty similar story of advancement through the ranks during the Terminus battles - except he had been fighting his own blood, seeing as his nephew had been one of the highest ranking officers of the emerging New Terminus League. Had been.

The performance of geth and turian fighters and the Krogan airdrop in straight lines one after another from the shuttles zooming overhead until a full unit in formation stood beforwas a sight to behold. She zoomed in on Urdnot Wrex, the leader of the united krogan clans who was not taking part in the parade and was standing on the Throne terrace with the Hero – accompanied by the cute krogan child image known by everyone all over the galaxy - Wrex's firstborn daughter, Urdnot Mordin, who currently stood next to the two no less famous asari girls. She was not small by any means anymore, already reaching up to his chest in height.

The ceremony reached one of its peaks when Generalissimo took off his Visor of Storm Command and presented it to the future Protector of the Galaxy. Shepard donned it to the cheer of 'Shepard' from the soldiers, gave the anticipated reply of 'Victory' – and herself issued the mental command to the last third of the parade participants. The shiny black of the Storm Brigade complemented the gray of the Army and blue and metallic of the Navy and took their places in front of the Throne. The Biotic Corps apparently was not led by the Archmagister but by the Dean of the Academy of Military Biotics. She delightedly brought everyone's favourite media disaster closer, the camera exploring her muscled body (although mostly covered by the uniform with sleeves replaced by bracelets – Allers did not began to even guess how they managed to get her to wear it anyway) and the head tattoos on both sides of the strip of long dark hair worn in an strange semblance of a horse's mane.

Another wing of fighters flying in perfect geometrical formation and a low rumble heralded the arrival of the Vindicators...thundering static discharges tore through the brightly lit skies as they descended and took their places – Majestic to the left with the Navy, Hierophant center with the Army and Nemesis right with the Storm Brigade – their shells painted the respective colours.

Pontifex, the Vindicator of Sol itself, descended, landing as lightly as it could – but still scoring some points on Richter scale and bringing about a maelstrom of lightnings arcing between it and the steel spike of the Throne– there was no place for it in front of the Throne so it stood over the city, it's 'feet' carefully placed on road intersections. It was the first time this had happened since the Reaper War and understandably so – but now that the most immediate and traumatic experiences had faded, it was time for the Vindicators to take their place with the other nations in their common living space. It was both an extremely beautiful and extremely terrifying sight – if there was something Diana was thankful about, it was about being on the same side with them.

'Shepard,' thundered its machinelike, metallic voice.

'Victory' – replied Protector of the Galaxy, the soldiers' voices this time joining with hers, easily reaching the same volume as the Vindicator's.

The holo froze and continued as a series of stills – of Shepard, soldiers, Vindicators. It was an army with no equal, commanded by the woman twice risen from the dead. Her speech of address to the people of the Galaxy began in the background.

'...but we know this day today is not about me. It is about you, people of the Galaxy those who have always stood besides me and come the need would do it again. And especially my loved ones...'

Doors in the centre of of the terrace opened. The camera slid over the elaborate, ceremonial asari robes worn by Liara and Samantha – similar but in the same time subtly different, and 100% adorable - white with red accents. They slowly walked across the terrace, hand in hand - and stood in front of Shepard. She held both of their hands for a moment and turned to the city, Samantha and Liara stood at her sides.

'Too late i realised that there is no authority in the galaxy capable of accepting my wedding vows as the line in the Council space is 'in the name of the Council and Tribunal' and since 15 minutes ago it says 'Council, Protector and the Tribunal' and it would not be appropriate to conduct the ceremony in the name of myself. So i am going to say my vows in front of the true power i represent – the people of the Galaxy united.

In sound mind and by my own free will i, Serena Shepard stand before you, people of the Galaxy and announce my intention to take already joined Liara T'Soni and Samantha Traynor as my wedded and lawful partners – and swear to be faithful, love and cherish them forever. '

'In sound mind and by my own free will i, Samantha Traynor stand before you, people of the Galaxy and announce my intention to take Serena Shepard as my wedded and lawful partner – and swear to be faithful, love and cherish her forever.'

'In sound mind and by my own free will i, Liara T'Soni stand before you, people of the Galaxy and announce my intention to take Serena Shepard as my wedded and lawful partner – and swear to be faithful, love and cherish her forever.'

'So - do we agree?'

'Yes'

'Yes'

'And yes. The joining has commenced. We,' Shepard smiled – 'may kiss each other...'

Diana wiped off a tear, mumbled something to the effect of 'she's just greedy' and fast forwarded the mush of them holding hands in the middle of new London and the lips of the three touching to a scene she had left in on principle, her favourite little gem. It featured the closest thing to an overweight asari one could find in the galaxy, mouthing 'if you hurt my girl' and slowly and expressively dragging her hand across her neck while looking at Serena – with a half empty can of Elassa in the other hand, as if to say 'i don't care about the ceremonies'.

Now only one thing remained. Allers had to think of a name. What was it about? Shepard? Galaxy? Victory? Love? Yes. Victory and love...got to go with those. Now the exact phrasing...

Half an hour later her fingers entered the final letters and confirmed the change of the filename.

The Triumph of Love.

* * *

Exhausted and sleepy Samantha placed her arm around both of her sweethearts, and wrapped her leg about the closest who happened to be Serena. Still deep down in her heart she disbelieved the fact she gets to keep both. Nevertheless it was the 10th day of their marriage.

Suddenly Serena's body tensed and her glowing, red eyes went wide open...

'What happened, love? A bad dream?' Samantha asked.

'No... that is, yes. Don't worry. Sleep. I'll try too.'

And Samantha happily lost herself to dreams, hoping to remember to ask about the dream in the morning.

* * *

'Code Infrared'

She did not need to wear the Visor to access Storm Command, only have it nearby – and presently it sat on her bedstand. Her Legacy machinery had established a wireless connection on the 2nd day of use. But Infrared? What was it? She had been almost asleep and could not focus immediately. Very slowly it dawned on her that the formulation was nothing less than 'a possible existential threat'

'Generalissimo to Protector. Shepard. We may have a situation. Nothing immediate, but the content of the message obliges me to let you know immediately'

'Victory, Garrus. I'm listening,' Serena wordlessly formulated a message.

'Our analysts ran a comparison of data from two different geth servers on the opposite sides of the galaxy running deep space recon and stumbled upon something.'

'I don't know how to say this but one of the stars presumed to be a part of Triangulum galaxy is not behaving as it should.'

'How...how do you mean that?'

'There are slight distortions in its spectrum, things where they shouldn't be, seemingly out of nowhere.'

'Is that all? Just a nonstandard star? You would not have woken me if it was just that.'

'It isn't. I run the data by Regulus and Pontifex. It is them who are ...i don't even know, scared? Even geth don't understand them half of the time but they say they can read the quantum 'shadow' of the stars, some sort of instant reflection. This one supposedly does not have one – or more precisely it has but not where it should be – but halfway between Triangulum and Milky Way. A check two consecutive weeks in a row by both Vindicators agree on a slight shift, which can mean only one thing.'

'Which is?'

'It is moving. At a FTL speed.'

'A whole star system?'

'Yes. At the present course, estimated collision with Milky Way ecliptic roughly 50 years from now.'

'What does that mean for us?'

'Like hell i know. Like hell Vindicators know. Just that it's something that can FTL-jump a star system. Your guess is as good as theirs.'

'Shit.'

'Shepard?..'

'Sorry. Victory, my Generalissimo. Victory.'


End file.
